


Milk Maid Woes

by Quiet_Shadow



Series: The Woes Series [15]
Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Breastfeeding, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Groping, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 02:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6593758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of the Decepticons’ victory, Swindle takes the opportunity to launch a new business on Cybertron. And to recruit employees, what’s better than to use the many captured Autobots? He’s just offering them a job, his protection, board and fuel for their services, so it’s a win-win situation!</p>
<p>Well, except for Sentinel, of course...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Milk Maid Woes

**Author's Note:**

> Hi fellows! It has been a long while since I went out of my way to write some good old fashioned Sentinel smut, hasn't it? Well, time to correct that ^^
> 
> To be honest, this particular story has been sitting on a corner of my desk for a couple months now, left unfinished after I went to work on other plot bunnies, so it had slipped my mind -- especially since I don't like posting unfinished works, knowing far too well how unlikely I am to pick them up again and not wanting to disappoint readers.
> 
> But after noticing we were nearing the third anniversary of the Woes series, I said to myself, 'eh, why the hell not?'. Plus, with just a couple sentences to round up the ending, it could be a good standalone.

“Welcome back among us, Sentinel Prime; I hope you enjoyed your prolonged nap. But let’s drop the formalities. Can I call you Sentinel? Yes, I think I will. We’re between friends here, aren’t we?”

Thus were the first words which greeted Sentinel has he came back to his sense after, according to his chronometer, several megacycles of unconsciousness which had left him with a lingering headache. He tried to raise a hand to his helm to cup his aching forehead, to no avail. Which was how he became more aware of his predicament, his Spark skipping a beat as he realized in what position he was.

One, he was standing up despite just emerging from either drug-induced recharge or a bad hit to the head. Two, he was standing up because his hands were bound above his head by a length of chain or energon-rope, he couldn’t say, his vision still unfocused as his processor and optical sensors finished to reboot. Three, his legs were equally bound at the ankles to a long metal rod, which was forcing him to spread his legs wide. The rod which itself was linked to the ground by a few chain links, thus preventing him to take any step, even if he had been able to hobble. Four… there were pieces of armor missing on him, most notably between his legs and over his chest!

He cursed something fierce and foul, using words that wouldn’t have stood out of a grease pit on Velocitron, making someone chuckle.

“My, who would have thought Autobot officers knew such language!”

Sentinel lowered his gaze from the bounds over his wrists -- he had been hoping to get out of them easily, but no such luck; he had been cuffed with heavy-duty stasis cuffs, a model that was basically unbreakable, and the chain hanging from the roof was made generic high-quality links that could resist the traction of a whole team of truckbots. No way he could manage to break them -- to glare daggers at the speaker.

“Swindle,” he sneered, recognizing the (in)famous merchant and arms dealer. The tan and purple mech was lounging in a couch, legs crossed, a cy-gar in one one and a mid-sized cube of energon in the other. Except, it looked like no energon Sentinel knew of; it had a pale pink hue, very different from the usual bright, almost purple pink regular energon was. Probably some kind of cocktails or high grade batch, he decided, glaring. “Release me immediately you… you criminal!” It felt feeble even to him, but his processor was still sluggish and he stumbled over finding the right adjective to call the smug dealer.

Swindle didn’t seem impressed with his outburst.

“Ordering me around, Sentinel? That’s not very nice -- some would actually say it’s unwise, given the circumstances.” Was that a veiled threat? “But let’s not venture that way, shall we? I’m sure two old friends like us can communicate without having to resort to slang and insults, can’t they?”

Sentinel’s jaw dropped. “‘Old friends?’ I had you arrested! You’re a researched criminal” he cried out indignantly, shaking his arms to try and free himself.

“A mere detail. You were doing your job, I’m sure. And besides, it’s thank to you and that friend of yours I managed to get my hands on the sweetest pile of loot I could ever hope for,” the tan and purple mech indicated, still sounding smug. “And where do you see a criminal? I’m an honest… well, I’m a legit businessmech, with all the papers to prove it.”

“Legit?!” Sentinel sputtered. “That’s rich! Autobots list you as…”

“I know perfectly well what the Autobots list me as,” the merchant cut in, waving with the hand holding his cy-gar. “Or should I said, listed me as. After all, it’s not as if Cybertron still belonged to them nor as if they did the law anymore, does it?” It was clearly a taunt, and Sentinel’s cheeks flushed in humiliation.

Thank to the moves of that traitor Longarm -- who was apparently the Decepticon Shockwave in disguise -- and other factors Sentinel wasn’t privy to, the Decepticons had launched a general invasion on Cybertron, using the Autobots’ own Space Bridges to transport their troops on the planet. The Elite Guard, with himself at their head and under the Magnus’ supervision, had valiantly mounted a resistance, but overtaken by the sheer number of assailants, they had had no choice but to evacuate the Metroplex, then the Fortress Maximus and try to join the Space Bridge Nexus in order to evacuate Cybertron to gather back their strengths and bring soldiers from the rest of the Commonwealth.

Unfortunately, the Decepticons had been waiting for them, setting up a trap -- cowardly slaggers as they were! -- and despite heroics attempts at escaping, Sentinel had been rendered unconscious and captured, while the Decepticons, the dirty usurpers they were, claimed the ownership of Cybertron and the start of a new order. The Prime had awoken in a small, cramped cell, locked with a dozen other Elite Guard members, and then had drifted in and out of consciousness as they were furnished with drugged fuel in order to get them ‘calm’ and unable to escape.

Which made his presence here, wherever ‘here’ was, surprising, but he didn’t dwell on it, not when he had better things to do. Like scream at the arms dealer before him.

“That’s… that’s a temporary setback!” Sentinel insisted, trying to look every inch the proud officer he was and puff up his chest with pride -- which only brought back home the fact he didn’t seem to have a chest plate anymore. The first layer of armor had been utterly removed, revealing part of his inner mechanisms and giving a far too easy access to his spark chamber, just hidden by a layer of rubber-like material the same color as his protoform and by a sliding plate. And then there was the missing plating between his legs, which revealed his bare valve and spike housing. “And as an Elite Guard Officer and the Magnus’ Second, I ask for the immediate restitution of my missing armor! If you do cooperate swiftly, I’ll consider not pressing charges for your invitations at debauchery,” he added, trying to sound magnanimous.

The effect was totally lost on Swindle, who just laughed before taking a sip of his drink, seeming to enjoy himself. “‘Cooperate’? ‘Magnus’ Second’? Oh, my dear Sentinel, don’t you know? The Magnus has been captured. The Autobots’ attempts at rebellion are now officially over. Welcome to the new world, my dear mech.”

Sentinel staggered -- well, as much as his bonds allowed him to -- caught unaware. That couldn’t be true! “You… you lie!” he sputtered.

“Don’t believe me? Remind me to show you a newspaper later on,” the tan and purple mech noted. “It’s all over the medias, you can’t miss it. But the Autobots’ ultimate defeat isn’t the reason I had you brought out of your cell -- well, not the full reason. You see, my dear mech,” the merchant said as he took a puff out of his cy-gar and shifted, crossing his legs anew, “I had you brought here to make you an offer.”

“An offer? Ah! As if I... !”

“Let’s not interrupt me, Sentinel,” Swindle said, optics slightly narrowed. “I dislike that. Where was I? Ah yes, I had an offer for you. Given the Autobots are now officially as dead as a rusty nail as far as military organisations go, I figured that you and many of your fellow Autobots are going to need a new job to make ends meet. The Decepticons can’t all keep you idle in prison, can they? Not when there’re so many things needed to make Cybertron turn right! Of course, they can’t allow you big jobs that would lead to a rebellion and a takeover, so no way they let you and your fellow anywhere anything to do with military and weapons. But, aren’t you lucky, I just found the perfect employment for you and your reconversion!”

Sentinel stared at him long and hard, speechless, before rage started to fill his Spark and processor. “Oh really?” he sneered derisively. “And what sort of ‘employment’ a recognized arms dealer with a hand in every traffic the Elite Guard was able to track down could offer me? Target for your hired goons’ target practice?” he asked with more bravado than he felt.

In truth, the lack of interface panel and chestplate was a very big clue on what fate the merchant was reserving to him. The slagger wanted to put him to work in a brothel, Sentinel was sure of it! But if he thought Sentinel was going to beg him not to, he had another thing coming! He was a Prime! He was Ultra Magnus’ trusted hand! He was proud! He was not going to lay down and take it without a fight! Especially since until he had further proof, Swindle was just lying between his dental plates!

The tan and purple mech let go of his cy-gar, crushing it in an ashtray on the low table next to the couch before he put a hand over his chest, adopting an expression of offended dignity.

“You wound me, my dear Sentinel! Do you really think so low of me? I would never treat a friend and coworker this way!”

“Yeah? Didn’t you said something about using me and my troops as spare parts when I apprehended you?” Sentinel glowered, tugging at his bonds.

“A mere tactic to stop my fellow prisoners to kill you during the jailbreak,” Swindle waved the comment asides. “You can imagine I would never had left such a fine model as yourself go to waste as mere spare parts.”

“No, instead you intend to use me as a pleasurebot!” Sentinel all but snarled, optics shining with rage. Once more, Swindle played the offended dignity’s card.

“A pleasurebot? I wouldn’t dare! What might even have given you the idea?” Sentinel glared, tugging at his bonds again, and Swindle chuckled. “Very well, I can admit it’s an honest mistake given the circumstances. But never fear, I don’t plan on having you work such a plebeian job. No, no. What I wanted to offer you was a position at my brand new business here on Cybertron -- perfectly legit, I had all the authorisation signed up by Megatron himself. Behold, my dear Sentinel: brought to you by Swindle, Swindle and Swindle, I hereby present you my brand new bar: The Milky Way!” he claimed, spreading his arms wide and making the energon in his drink turn.

Sentinel blinked. “A… bar? What, you want to try and recruit me as a bouncer?” he asked stupidly.

“Don’t be silly,” Swindle chuckled. “Given the clientele will be mainly composed of Decepticons, you’re far too delicate to get used in such a position. Besides, between my two bodyguards and my usual helpers, I’ve got the security part well-covered anyway. No, my dear Sentinel. What I want to offer you is an unique opportunity to work as one of my star maids.”

“A… maid?” Sentinel repeated, shaking his head slightly, feeling lost. “What? Like, you want me to take orders and hand over trays?”

“In part, in part,” Swindle nodded, taking a new sip from his energon. “Though the maids I’ll here will be tasked with many other things.”

That… didn’t sound as bad as Sentinel had feared -- though given he was lacking some important panels here, he wasn’t going to let his guard down near Swindle! “Alright, so you’re opening a bar,” he said flippantly. “But Cybertron got hundred of bars; what make you think your own will survive long enough to generate a profit? Or that it will survive whatever slagging financial crisis is looming what’s with the Deceptions making a takeover?” He didn’t know much about finance and he was shooting in the dark, but he hoped to destabilize the other mech. Sadly, it didn’t work and Swindle just grinned.

“I’m so glad you asked! You see, my bar will be very special. For one, we won’t serve pure high-grade, or pure energon of any type, no. The Milky Way will be Cybertron’s first milk bar,” he said dramatically, optics glowing and making Sentinel blink.

“A… milk bar?” he asked, weirded out. “Like, you’re going to serve Mudder’s Milk to all your customers?” The non-crude drink was on the menu at Maccadam’s, though Sentinel had never tried it, preferring fuel with more punch than non-crude mixes. “If so, then you’re business is going to sink in a matter of decacycles,” he added, sniffing disdainfully.

“Mudder’s Milk? How plebeian,” Swindle sniffed as well. “No, no. I intend to sell better quality products. And I already know the business will be booming. There is a very high demand for milk bars among the Decepticons who share a love for energon-milk taken right from the source and certified fresh.” He put his glass aside and rubbed his hands, smiling widely. “What can an honest businessmech like do but to cater to their desires?”

Sentinel looked at him, weirded out. “What do you mean, ‘taken right from the source’?” The formulation felt off and was setting several alarm bells in his CPU. The tan and purple mech smirked.

“Why, but suckled right out of the maids’ pouches, of course!”

And… that was the moment Sentinel’s CPU crashed. Or if it didn’t, it certainly felt like it to him as the last sentence was repeated again and again in his memory banks. His jaw dropped open and his optics widened -- he probably looked perfectly idiotic, but he was past that consideration. “What?” he just asked in a flat tone.

Swindle paid him no mind, reaching for his subspace and drawing out a datapad and a stylus. “All the details are in the contract here. The maids are hired for an indefinite time period, the details of which might vary from contract to contract. They’ll be provided with a berth in the rooms above the bar and daily fuel, as well as a full covering of their expenses, which…”

“Suckling… from energon pouches?” Sentinel repeated, paying no mind to Swindle’s speech. “Only Sparklings do that!”

Swindle paused in his presentation of the multiple ‘advantages’ his workers would be given. “Is that what you think, my dear Sentinel? My, I hadn’t thought you were so naive! Plenty of adult mechs enjoy to suckle, be it for comfort, for the unique taste -- or as a preliminary to interfacing.”

Sentinel straightened. “I knew it! Not a pleasurebot, huh?” he snapped, trying desperately to tug at his bonds once more.

“Of course not,” Swindle said, indignant. “If I was hiring you as a pleasurebot, your sole duty would be to interface with the customers. As a milk maid, I hire you so customers pay to suckle sweet, sweet energon-milk from those wonderfully large pouches of yours -- the interfacing is just a bonus.”

“My pouches?” Sentinel asked flatly. “Because you really think I’m going to let you or anyone use those damn things?” At least now the absence of his chestplate was easily explained, and the Pit if Sentinel was going to let anyone near those damn things. He shifted, feeling uneasy as his systems pinged him -- they had done so several times already, but he had paid it no mind, focused as he was on Swindle. “How do you know what size they are anyway?” he asked suspiciously.

“Why, but because I had them filled and sampled while you were unconscious, of course,” Swindle shrugged, and Sentinel stared at him with horror. “Oh, don’t be so shocked! I just made us save time. I’m a very busy mech, and I have other potential maids to visit in order to open the bar for the slated opening night. It stood to reason I wasn’t going to wait until you were up and awake before I went through the necessary procedures to make sure you were one of the gems I should absolutely recruit. By the way, you aced my tests,” he continued in a genuinely delighted voice while Sentinel continued to stare, mute from shock.

“I had noticed you had quite the rack the first time we met, especially for an Autobot,” he said as he made vague gesture to design his chest, opening his arms wide to do so. “Upon receiving the authorisation to build the Milky Way, I got intrigued by discovering if your pouches -- and I knew you had them, since it was mentioned in your schematics and medical reviews -- were as large as your chest suggested, and I was delighted to find out they were of a very acceptable size. Of course, we may have to make them slightly larger, but it was a very good start. And then I had to test the merchandise, and once again you answered to my high quality standards. Actually,” he added as he took back his glass, smirking, “I found you so refreshing I went through the entire reserve we drained from you.”

Oh fragging Primus on a pogostick! Sentinel swore mentally, jaw dropping as he realized what exactly Swindle was drinking. It was energon-milk. SENTINEL’s energon-milk!

“Sweet Primus,” he whispered in shock.

“No, sweet energon-milk,” Swindle corrected, taking a sip and smiling widely. “Hmm, delicious and refreshing. Of course, we’ll have to give you a few injections in order to rise up the number and quantities of trace elements to make it even healthier, but it’s a solid basis already and something we could sell already for a hefty sum.”

“The Pit you will!” Sentinel snarled, enraged beyond words. That sick fragger thought he could use him like that? No way in the Pit Sentinel would let him, or anyone and especially not a Decepticon to suckle from his pouches! Those damn things were not for free use! “Release me immediately!”

“Ah. That, I’m afraid, is impossible,” Swindle sighed as he leaned back in his seat after putting the drink back on the table. Calmly, he took a new cy-gar out of a box on the aforementioned table, lighted it and took a few breaths before continuing.

“You see, my dear Sentinel, your custody was already transferred to me, and I paid good money to get it. I even had to paid a little extra or two to make the process quicker. As you can imagine, I’m not in the habit of doing anything out of charity -- though I do reverse some of my profits to charity for tax reasons, but it’s not the matter at hand, is it?” He raised an optic ridge, looking at Sentinel up and down. “As far as the proper authorities are concerned, your eventual fate doesn’t concern them anymore. They accepted credits to get an Autobot off their hands, and they happily did so. Should I hand you back to them, invoking a breach of contract -- and if I did, I wouldn’t give you back those panels you seem obsessed with, since I have no intention to pay a medic for such a basic operation -- then they’ll take you back, of course. But I won’t get reimbursed.” Swindle’s optics narrowed, his expression turning dark. “And I don’t like not getting my money back. Not to mention, your presence and the first steps of your preparations for the jobs already costed me some credits -- credits I intend for you to reimburse by your labor, one way or another.”

His expression went back to jovial. “So you see, my dear Sentinel, it would be much better for everyone involved if you would just sign your official work contract as a milk maid so we can start your training and get you ready in time for the opening night of the Milky Way.”

“In your recharge cycles!” Sentinel exclaimed angrily, though his Spark was sinking as he found no real way to get out of his current predicament.

“Yes, I was afraid you’d say that,” Swindle sighed. “You Autobots seem very stubborn and put-out about it. Personally, I don’t see why; pouches are made to used, after all, and what better way than by serving paying customers?”

“If you think it’s so nice, why don’t you do it yourself?” Sentinel put in nastily.

“Oh, I’d probably do it, if I had pouches myself,” the tan and purple mech shrugged, “but most military frames are built without. Perhaps that’s why they’re so popular among Decepticons,” he mused aloud. “Anyway, let’s get back to business. I want your legally binding signature, Sentinel. I can’t get you to work without it -- even if you’re legally mine to use, work inspection doesn’t kid around with work contracts, and I have no intention to pay large amounts of credits to regularize the situation. Those cyber-vampires would suck me dry.” He shuddered. “So we can go about it two differents way. Either you stop being as stubborn as a pig-o-tron right now, sign the contract and get offered refreshments, a long bath and proper rest before we start your training, or you continue defying me and we’ll have to play a patience game -- which, I’m afraid to say, you won’t enjoy much.”

Sentinel snorted. “Ah! As if I was going to break and give him like a frightened Sparkling!” He glared at the other mech, puffing up his chest and trying to sound as confident as he usually appeared for his public speeches. “You’re going to have to wait for a long time, because I won’t work for you, Swindle! Get that in that thick processor of yours! Nobody will suckle from my pouches, and you certainly can’t force me to fill them up for your disgusting customers!”

Swindle smirked, looking like the cyber-cat who had caught the robot-canary. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so certain if I were you.”

A chill went down Sentinel’s spinal strut; he didn’t like the way the merchant had said it. He glared at him suspiciously. “What was that? You doubt my resolve?”

“Your resolve? Oh no, my dear Sentinel,” the tan and purple mech said smoothly. “I truly believe you could hold up for a long, long time if circumstances allowed for it. Sadly, it’s not the case.” He seemed very amused too as Sentinel’s alarm grew. “You see, I had fully expected a refusal from your part, on par with those of a couple of maids I have already recruited, so I took my precautions to ensure you would sign up, out of your, ah, _own free will_.” His smile grew.

The chill increased. “What…?” His systems were still pinging him and, annoyed, Sentinel shook his head. Was it him, or was it suddenly hotter in the room?

“I’m going to ask you a simple question first, my dear mech. Do you know how much energon-milk I would need to make the Milky Way a rentable business?” Swindle asked doctorally, lounging smugly in the couch, optics still on Sentinel as he smiled widely. “No, of course not; you’re not well-versed in business, are you? The answer is, a lot -- especially if I want to try and run it essentially on my future maids’ pouches. The one little problem I was facing at this point -- asides of recruiting personnel, of course -- was that, normally, a mech or a femme’s energon pouches can only hold that much fuel before they’re drained to the last drop, and then they take a while to refill.”

Still watching Sentinel with a small smirk, he took another puff from his cy-gar. The Prime twitched, once more tugging on the chain binding his wrists to the roof. Condensation was starting to run over his plating and various messages popped in his CPU about ‘increased energon production and flow’, which made no sense to him. “What did you do to me?!” he screeched, unable to refrain himself any longer.

The tan and purple mech continued to smoke his cy-gar as if he hadn’t been interrupted, the smug fragger! “Given the limitations, I had two main options to work from. The first one was to hire more maids than initially planned; feasible, of course, but it would have put a drag on my budget, since I would have had to rework my estimations and end up spending more money than planned, and that wouldn’t have done it at all.” He shook his head, looking chagrined. “So since the first option was pretty much scrapped, I decided to go with option number two: make sure the milk-energon kept flowing to the point a pouch can’t be drained.”

Sentinel made a strangled noise. “Wh… it’s not possible! Even a Carrier’s pouches deplete!” Oh Primus, let’s not the arms dealer have Sparked him up while he was unconscious!

“A Carrier? I would certainly hope not!” Swindle exclaimed. “Sparklings are bad for business; Sparked workers need time off, maternity leaves, arranged work schedules, raises, special primes,...” he listed on his fingers with a look of distaste. “Granted, I don’t mind Sparklings as potential sources of income -- I own my own brand of Sparkling’s products, after all -- but I’m very much against the idea of my employees having Sparklings. Don’t worry, I won’t let a Bitlet ruin your gorgeous figure,” he ‘reassured’ the captive Prime. “No, the means I decided to use are much simpler, and it only cost me a medic’s assistance -- which I had already paid for in order to give my future employees a thorough check-up. Well, a medic’s assistance, and the invaluable help of this,” he chuckled as he reached for his subspace and pulled out…

A download chip? Sentinel stared at it, not understanding. What had it to do with…? Wait. His systems pinging him from the moment he had regained consciousness -- and probably even before, now that he thought about it --, his rising core temperature, the message in his HUD about ‘increased energon production and flow’...

“A virus?!” he blurted out, panicked. “You infected me with a virus?!”

Oh slag slag slag slag slag! He quickly checked his firewalls, hoping to be able to boost them up so they would better fight and hopefully eliminate the intruders in his systems, but to his surprise, they weren’t detecting anything out of the ordinary. No virus, no intruders, nothing out of the ordinary. If anything, they were running more smoothly than ever before, and even more efficient. But that made no sense!

The tan and purple mech put a hand over his chest. “A virus? But I wouldn’t dare, my dear Sentinel! It’s be completely unethical! No, no, I just had your systems prepped and then had a medic install a new, harmless program in your databanks. Granted,” he mused aloud, “it did start up as a virus once upon a time. I don’t suppose you know the planet Vacche III, do you Sentinel?” he asked amiably. He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing.

“No, I don’t suppose you would. It’s a neat little planet in the center of the Lactis Nebula, nested somewhere along the border of the Nebulon Republic. I think the closest Commonwealth named outpost would be Athenia. Organic in nature, though inhabited by proper mechs and had been since millions of vorns. Good place if you want to crash for a few cycles to let yourself be forgotten by unhappy customers, since it’s out of the way of commercial flights and most of the cargo flights. Vacche III is not a very rich planet -- indeed, their biggest source of wealth come from their ChronoCows, which produce an energon-milk of superior quality they trade with neighboring planets for other goods. I managed to secure a few commercial agreements with them as it is and should be able to offer their products at the Milky Way, by the way, in complement to my maids’ owns. But I’m getting off track, aren’t I?” he philosophized.

“Anyway, back to Vacche III and its inhabitants. As I said, the planet takes great pride in their Chrono-Cows and their near infinite production of energon-milk. What people never stop to consider is, how do they manage to run it so smoothly when even the most productive Chrono-Cows stop producing energon-milk after a while? The answer lays in two major factors -- well, three. One, the Chrono-Cows they raise have been bred specifically over eons to have the ‘right’ characteristics, or if you prefer, to have large energon pouches. Two, Vacche III has long been faced with a virus that can’t be found anywhere else -- and I’ve looked. You see, a long time ago, as the inhabitants started to form their herds, they noticed some of their mechanimals had caught a ‘virus’ with very interesting effects. This ‘virus’, which still exists today, targets very specific systems in the Chrono-Cows. It doesn’t harm them the slightest, but it affects the subjects it ‘infects’ by making the energon pouches and the pendulous nubs swell past their normal size, while rerooting energon to the pouch so it can be transformed and ‘milked’. Chrono-Cows’s pouches are left literally dripping and are in almost constant need to be milked, thus assuring their owner a large production. The best part, though? The effects can last orns, so long the ‘virus’ is still present in the Chrono-Cow’s body -- and they can catch it again in no time!” the tan and purple mech said cheerily. “Not ones to lose such an opportunity, Vacche III’s farmers started to specifically bred ‘infected’ mechanimals in the hope of ‘taming the virus’ and, through generations of Chrono-Cows, to change it into a core program in all new mechanimals birthed. And they did! Isn’t that formidable?”

No, no it wasn’t, Sentinel thought grimly and with rising alarms as his systems continued to ping him -- and looking down, he almost choked as he saw his pouches were starting to fill. “A virus effective on mechanimals can’t be transmitted to mechs!” he blurted out in panic as he wiggled to free himself.

Swindle hummed. “Normally, I would agree with you, but that’s the beauty of it: Vacche III’s inhabitants went out of their way in order to modify the original virus so it became a program transmissible to mecha, which is the third major factor in how smooth and efficient their business is. I truly want to applaud them, because they did so in order to increase their incomes. Mechs after my own Spark,” he sighed happily. “You see, since Chrono-Cows’ energon-milk formed the majority of their resources and incomes, they decided that, in order to save up and gain as much money as possible, they should try and find another source of fuel for themselves. Which is how they got the idea to make the virus transmissible to themselves. One member or two of the households, or more if needed, is ‘infected’ with the virus so their pouches start swelling and producing the whole family’s fuel for a couple of orns or more, depending on how many times they are ‘infected’ and ‘reinfected’. Some spend whole vorns being suckled from or milked, and take great pride in doing so.”

He took another puff of his cy-gar, watching an increasingly distressed Sentinel with a knowing smile. “Just picture it: a farm in the countryside, with an herd of Chrono-Cows guarded by Hellhounds quietly grazing in a field of green and purple metalherbs, their dangling pouches and enlarged nubs steadily milked by hand or through a pump to fill enormous reservoirs. The head of the household watching his mechanimals with pride, while his mate or Creators or Creations or helpers sit comfortably on the porch, their own pouches pridefully displayed as he fed whoever needs it, mechs suckling happily from his pouches before going back to work. Quite the peaceful, pastoral scene, don’t you think?” he confessed to the captive Prime.

Sentinel shook his head madly in denegation; it wasn’t peaceful, it was horrific! Those mechs had no sense of decency if they let adult mechs suckle from them, especially out in the open! “That’s… that’s immoral!” he snapped.

Swindle blinked. “Immoral? I don’t think I saw bigger devotees during my travels! Always going to the Temple of Primus or those of the local Harvest Deities to pray! And generous at that! They’re very welcoming toward strangers, offering them the first suckle out of the provider mech, giving them the best berth and making sure all his needs are taken care of! I spent some great cycles there,” he chuckled. “Do you know they build a whole hierarchy and dating mindset based on pouches sizes? Having large ones is a very desirable traits among them; the bigger your pouches are, the more you’re going to score. Judging by the size of yours, you’d certainly be very popular yourself,” he added as an afterthought as he eyed Sentinel’s growing pouches thoughtfully.

Sentinel glared at him, then at himself. His pouches were swelling slowly, the rubbery matter extending and stretching steadily as energon coursed in the tubes underneath. The nubs picked up and pointed upward already, and he growled. “So what? Just because you had me infected with a virus doesn’t mean I’m going to cave in and sign your damn contract!” But for all his outward bravado, he felt uneasy and worried.

And Swindle obviously knew it. “So you say for now,” he smirked as he walked over to Sentinel, standing before him with one hand on his hip, the other still holding his cy-gar which he smoked right in Sentinel’s face, “but give it a few megacycles and you’ll sing a different tune. Especially when those,” he gave one of the swelling pouch a flick with his finger, making Sentinel yelp “will be fully swollen and ready to be milked. You’ll be sore, tense, dripping and desperate to get the energon-milk out. Because you’ll want it out. Sure, you’ll be dripping, but the few drops getting out by themselves will not be enough to relieve the soreness of liters of good energon-milk desperately seeking a way out of your feeding lines. You’ll be whimpering to get me or anyone to suckle you so you can gain some relief,” he continued in a sultry voice. “And your pouches will be so sensitive any kind of simulation will make you overload, hard.”

“I won’t!” Sentinel exclaimed, trying to lean back and away from Swindle, shaking his head in angry denial.

“Of course you will, my dear Sentinel,” Swindle smiled wider. “I made a few modifications to the virus especially to make the pouches sensitive and increase the capacity to overload from stimulation. Some customers will want my maids for more than just suckling, and it’s normal they are wet and ready for them should they ask for it, isn’t it?” He winked, the very image of the snug slagger he was.

“So much for not being a pleasurebot,” Sentinel managed to snarl, trying not to shake, frightened despite himself by the certainty in the tan and purple mech’s voice.

Swindle shrugged. “I told you, there is a difference, especially when it comes to training and…”

There was a knock which made him stall in whatever speech he had been ready to launch himself in and making Sentinel perk up. He hadn’t noticed where the door was before -- the room he was locked in had bare metal sheets as walls, without any lining letting know where the exit was. Swindle looked above his shoulder, in the general direction of the couch, looking annoyed at the interruption.

“Yes, what is it?”

A segment of the wall behind the couch slide to the side, revealing an opening through which a mech peeked his head in. Sentinel frowned in distaste and disgust as he recognized a Starscream clone, like the ones he had encountered on the mudball known as Earth. This one he was unfamiliar with, though; blue-grey in color, with yellow-painted wings and one of those ugly cone-shaped helmet, he was distinguishing enough from his brethren for Sentinel to have remembered him if they had met before. He looked at his Swindle with respect, but when his gaze slide over to Sentinel, his optics started to shine with unrestrained… desire? Greed? Sentinel wasn’t sure, but he didn’t like this gaze at all!

“Yes, what is it, Dirge?” Swindle asked, annoyed as he turned to face him, blocking the Seeker’s view of Sentinel.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to interrupt you, Mr Swindle,” the Seeker started in an exaggerated obsequious tone, “but the building inspectors are here to check out the installations, and I couldn’t raise you on your comm what’s with the room blocking them and…”

Swindle raised a hand, sighing. “Alright, alright, I’m coming. I trust you and Thrust installed them in the private salon and offered them a drink while they waited?”

The Seeker shuffled. “Uh, Galatea did it?” he said meekly, and Swindle sighed again.

“Of course she did. I suppose it hadn’t even crossed your processor? But nevermind; go back to stand watch with your brother,” he ordered. “I’m getting up in a few kliks. I’m sorry, my dear Sentinel, but I’ll have to leave you alone for a bit,” he said as he turned back toward Sentinel and bowed. “We’ll continue this conversation upon my return. In the meanwhile, you should think about what I told you and consider signing. Actually, if you did so now, it would save us both a lot of troubles…”

“No way in the Pit, arms dealer!” Sentinel growled, trying not to fidget as his pouches continued to fill and swell with energon. They were now the size of a big Ovoid-Orange.

“Mr Swindle or boss for you,” the tan and purple mech corrected. “And I’m far more than a simple arms dealer, I’m a business mech. But nevermind. I’ll let you think about it. See you in a bit, my dear.”

And after bowing again, he left, chuckling all the while. Sentinel glared at the wall once the narrow door had closed, once again hiding the exit. Shaking his head, he started to thrash and wiggle to escape his bindings yet again. He was not going to let that slagger win!

No way he was becoming a… a ‘milk maid’ for that fragger! No way!

*-*-*-*-*

It took exactly 7 megacycles, 23 cycles and 48 nanokliks before Sentinel utterly caved in and begged Swindle to sign the damn contract, just please, please, please, don’t let him in that state any longer! A record, as he learned later from the bar’s barman and supervisor, but it didn’t help Sentinel’s bruised pride.

In truth, Sentinel had almost given up sooner, but his pride and Swindle’s cruelty had kept it going for longer than necessary.

It started when Swindle came back almost two megacycles after leaving Sentinel alone for the first time. By the time he regained the ‘cell’ the Prime had been locked in, he was most pleased to notice the blue mech’s pouches had finished to swell and were now full and eagerly waiting for some ‘attention’.

“My, my, my,” he purred as he let the door slide close behind him and, skirting around the couch, walked over the bound Prime while rubbing his hands. “Would you look at you? Such large, big pouches you have!”

Sentinel glared at him, but it lacked his previous heat; the damn things were heavy with the excess energon-milk filling them, and his HUD was full of warnings messages asking him to release it -- which he couldn’t, because whatever this virus he was infected with was, it messed his internal commands. He couldn’t send orders to the pouches to drain and revert back to their flat state, to his dismay, and so he was condemned to look down at them as they almost bounced with every move he tried to make. 

“Back off,” he growled as Swindle came to a halt a step away from him, optics glued to the full pouches.

Of course the tan and purple mech didn’t. Instead, he reached out and took a pouch in each hand, humming as he weighed them. Sentinel almost choked in outrage and was taking a breath to start screaming at the slagger when Swindle used his thumb to flick the nub. The rant turned immediately into a shocked gasp as he felt both pain and pleasure course through him. Drops of energon-milk immediately made their way past the safety system of the nubs, staining Swindle’s thumbs, not that the merchant seemed to mind.

“Hmm, heavy, aren’t they? And why wouldn’t they be, when they’re so full of your delicious energon-milk?” he commented airily as he gave the pouches a squeeze which made Sentinel whimpered as he felt the same sensation as when his nubs had been flicked. It coursed even deeper into his frame and he felt a slight twinge of arousal down his interface array, making him blush in shame and anger. “And firm too! That virus does wonder, doesn’t it? Not only does it extend the pouches past their normal size, but it also insure they do stay firm and soft to the touch at the same time. Oh, the customers are so going to eat you up!” he gushed.

Well, that did explain why his pouches weren’t the size he remembered them to be the last time he had to deploy them -- during a medical check up a couple of stellar cycles ago, before he became Ultra Magnus’ official Second.

“They will… not,” Sentinel grunted with some effort as he tried to wiggle his way out of the hold Swindle had on his pouches, but it only served to rub them deeper into the tan and purple mech’s hands, making him fight back a whimper.

“Of course they will,” Swindle dismissed the comment as he blessedly let go of the pouches, watching intently as they swayed and jiggled back in position. Contemplating the spectacle with a satisfied smirk, he licked his thumbs clean, making noises of pleasure as he did so, to Sentinel’s utter disgust. “Wondeful! Delicious! The taste is both rich and refreshing, and I know a couple of mechs who will be begging to latch at those nubs and suckle you out.”

“I told you… no!” Sentinel grunted, trying to ignore the weight of the pouches as they fell back, the numerous pings and HUD messages he kept receiving and the soreness he was starting to feel in the nubs as energon-milk tried to burst out. Not to mention the twinge of arousal which hadn’t disappeared yet.

“Oh, but I’m sure we can change your mind,” Swindle tried to cajole him, waving his arms. “There’ll be plenty of advantages working for me, my dear Sentinel. Let me give you a review of the contract, alright?” He walked back to the couch, where he sat regally, crossing one leg elegantly over his knee as he took back the datapad he had showed the Prime earlier. Sentinel almost sighed in relief and whimpered in want at the same time, for he was both happy to have Swindle away from him but also desperate for some contact. As angry as he had been at being fondled by that slimy fragger, his hands on his swollen pouches had felt good. His cheeks burned with humiliation at the thought. Oh, the moment he was free, he was going to kill that slagger, erase that stupid, condescending look off his face!

“Let’s start with the most obvious, shall we?” the merchant said as he turned the datapad on. “Being an Autobot on Cybertron is going to literally suck slag for the next few hundred vorns, if not more. You know how those big warrior types are,” he confessed with a self-depreciating smile. “Once they’ve won, they need to lord it over the rest of us mortals. Coupled with a few security measures which are judged indispensable in order to get Cybertron back on its rails with a new government at its head, lead by Lord Megatron of course, Autobots are going to get themselves banned from a lot of places and a lot of jobs, especially the former officers. Many will have to make do with low-paid positions such a simple factory workers or miners -- and I think no few Decepticons will taste the irony here. As it is, Autobots will be considered second-class citizens and open to a lot of abuse. By working for me, you’re going to beneficiate from my protection,” Swindle carried on easily, glancing up at Sentinel to judge his reaction.

Which was to simply stare back, unimpressed, and to try and not fidget in discomfort under the cumulated weight of his awkward, uncomfortable position, and of his swollen, sore pouches.

“Not convinced yet, I see,” Swindle noted. “But nevermind, let me explain to you the other advantages offered to the maids of the Milky Way! I think I mentioned earlier I would provide a roof for my employees, did I not? You should really consider it, my dear Sentinel. With the invasion and urban guerilla led by the retreating Autobots, many habitation buildings were left damaged or completely destroyed. Many mechs are left homeless -- and the fact Decepticons civilians and new units keep pouring through the Space Bridges to ‘get back home’ here on Cybertron isn’t helping matter. I know many mechs who’d be ready to sell their Spark for a roof above their helm!”

“Well, not… me!” Sentinel groaned, trying to stand straighter. Selling his Spark? Ah!

“So you say, because the reality of the situation hasn’t caught with you yet, but nevermind it yet,” Swindle hummed. “Nonetheless, as part of your engagement, you’ll get a place to sleep -- and plenty of oil and energon to refuel. We must keep your systems filled in order for you to produce, don’t we?” he winked. Sentinel growled before whimpering as a pang of pain shot from his engorged nubs. “Something wrong, Sentinel?” the tan and purple mech asked with false concern. “You seem pained; is there anything I can do to give you some relief?”

The Prime glared, dental plates clenching. “Yeah… go frag yourself!”

That earned him a pout and a supposedly Sparkbroken look. “I’m only trying to be helpful here, my dear mech; no need to be so aggressive!” Sentinel continued to glare and Swindle sighed. “Well, let’s review the next advantages in accepting the position of maid at the Milky Way, shall we? I mentioned the protection automatically granted to my workers, I mentioned the board, I mentioned the fuel, but did I also mention I’ll cover all your medical care expenses?”

“Well,” he corrected himself after a moment of silence, “it’s be fairer to say I already started to cover your medical expenses and that, once you’ve signed, I’ll continue to cover for them, under a certain limit. Thorough systems’ checks, anti-virus, firewalls upgrades, new mods... you’ll be treated to the best, and regularly. But you know how medical care goes; it costs a lot. Being the generous mech I am, I don’t mind paying them myself so you don’t have to seek out a medic and do complicate money transactions, especially given the state of Cybertron’s economy. But I’m not so rich I can provide for everything without a… compensation,” he inserted smoothly, making alarms blare under Sentinel’s helm.

“Here’s my proposition, given to all the employees: in exchange for every advantages you’re given, I won’t pay you a salary. I will also be taking a share of your tips, something like… 80% of them,” the tan and purple mech whistled innocently. “It’ll help cover the funds I will allot for the rest your care, such as daily massages, polish, solvents, various care products,...” he listed off. “Additionally, and due to a new law Megatron just passed, Autobot workers are supposed to reverse part of their savings to the government in order to help rebuild Cybertron. I propose 18% of your tips be reversed to the reconstruction effort, while the remaining 2% will be added to a private bank account under your name to be saved and serve as your eventual retirement fund. It’s honest, isn’t it?”

Sentinel stared and shook his head in disbelief, wincing as it made him move and sway his heavy pouches, increasing the pressure he felt in them. “You… you must be kidding,” he groaned. “That’s pure thievery!”

“My proposition is perfectly reasonable,” Swindle countered immediately. “A milk maid is a far more risky and expensive investment than a pleasurebot for the various establishments I happen to have parts in, and I intend to only have and serve the best to customers. You should feel yourself honored I consider you such a good investment,” he huffed, putting the datapad on the table. “Especially now; your pouches almost doubled their natural size. Anyone with a kink for breastfeeding will be trailing after you like a lost cyber-puppy!”

That made the Prime sputter in anger before he winced as a new pang of pain spread from his swollen, erect nubs. It didn’t escape Swindle, who rose from his seat and walked over with a pseudo-solicitous look on his face. “Does it hurt, Sentinel?” he asked as he cupped both pouches in his hands and gave them a light squeeze, making Sentinel gasp. His knees shook as he felt a strange pleasure shot through his body, making his cheeks redden and Swindle chuckle.

“And now, isn’t that agreeable? You should listen to me, my dear mech. If you sign the contract now, I’ll make sure you’ll be provided the best, always. You’ll get a day of rest every decacycle to gather your strengths and lounge in berth all day if you wish. A medic will be ready to examine you every solar cycle, making sure you’re always at the peak of your strength. You’ll be entrusted in the care of the Milky Way’s main bartender/supervisor, my right-hand in these operation, who will watch over you as if you were her own Creation; she’ll make sure all your needs are met, all your wishes -- asides of the truly outrageous ones or those which could cause harm to yourself and the bar’s reputation, of course -- will be fulfilled. I’ll have the best lingerie available given to you in order to clad your gorgeous body and support your pouches -- because yes, you will definitely need some support, and I can think of a few models which would look absolutely sinful over that dark blue plating of yours.”

Sentinel shook his head weakly. “I… I won’t…” No way he’d wear those organic-inspired things which mechs of little virtue wore in those porn holovids he had sometimes rented! But the idea of something to support his swollen, sensitive pouches was making him keen softly, because Primus he knew he needed it…!

“Oh yes, Sentinel, you will. Bodices, bras, corsets, garters, stockings, panties,...” Swindle listed. “Especially the panties; you wouldn’t want just everyone to gaze at the treasure between your thighs, would you?” Sentinel gave a groan, trying to shift and bring his legs together -- impossible, of course, due to the bar keeping them spread.

“Don… don’t talk about m… my interface arraayyy like that,” he moaned as Swindle lightly flicked his nubs, making energon-milk flow out. It was just a little burst, quickly dried, but it was enough to make Sentinel almost arch his back.

“Why not?” Swindle cooed. “Granted, your pouches will be a bigger draw, more used for pleasure, but there are mechs and femmes alike who will be interested in getting a look or a taste at what you hide down there, and who am I or who are you to refuse them? But never fear, you won’t be left at the mercies of simple ruffians. The bouncers will make sure you aren’t harassed by vermin or worse, non-paying mechs! I do intend for true ‘connoisseurs’ to enjoy your charms. Still, it would be a crime to hide away such a pleasant morsel,” he smirked, glancing down at Sentinel’s bare array. “We may work the placement of a see-through interface panel in complement to the panties in your contract, if you show yourself agreeable to the idea.”

“N… nnn…” Sentinel tried to say and shake his head, only to choke and cry out when Swindle suddenly caught one of his nubs between his lips, making a little suction on the engorged tip and freeing another little jet of energon-milk. The merchant hummed pleasantly before leaning back.

“Oh, you prefer to stay completely bare?” Swindle mock-asked. “It’s perfectly alright for me, of course, and I’m willing to negotiate other arrangements should you wish to. Anything for one of my maids, my dear Sentinel. Come on, let’s sign the contract now, so we can both relax and put our differences behind us. There’re so many things we will need to see through and prepare for the Milky Way’s opening,” he continued to try and cajole the Prime, still lightly fondling the energon pouches and making the enriched milky substance burst out of the engorged nubs by small quantities. “You’ll need receive daily supplements shots to increase the taste and quality of your energon-milk. Not to mention, you’ll need some training in order to greet the customers, and to meet their desires, especially if they pay for more than a suckle out of that impressive rack. And let’s not forget training to make sure this tight little valve of you get wet and ready at the drop of a panel...”

Sentinel’s optics flashed as he clenched his dental plate. This time, he was past the limits of his patience, sore pouches and strange pleasure flashes be damned! Who did the tan and purple mech thought he was?! Nobody spoke that way to Sentinel Prime, future Magnus of the Autobots! Nobody!

Optics full of defiance, he did the only thing a bound mech in his situation could do: he spat in Swindle’s face.

The smooth, cheery-sounding tan and purple mech immediately stopped himself in the middle of a sentence, mouth open and optics staring right ahead as the spit rolled off his cheek slowly, leaving a pinkish trail on his cheeks. Just as slowly, he raised a hand and reached out to touch and clean it, his face blank. Then his optics narrowed and he looked at Sentinel’s with contempt.

“I see. So this is how you reward my generosity? Very well,” he inhaled slowly. “Since you seem to be the type of mech who can only understand and agree to things the hard way, let’s see how you handle a few more megacycles without any attention, shall we?” His purple optics were cold as he took a step back and wiped out the stain on his cheek with a cloth taken out of subspace. “I’m going to make you sing, Sentinel,” he swore. “And you’ll only be able to blame yourself for that.”

He turned heels and left, not giving his captive another glance. Sentinel watched him go with satisfaction and no small amount of Prime, happy to be left alone by the perv.

That’s it, until his already sore pouches started to hurt again, making him start to reconsider in how much trouble he had just landed himself by ‘chasing’ Swindle away when he himself was in no shape to relieve himself.

And so, by the time 5 more megacycles, 23 cycles and 48 nanokliks rolled by and Swindle finally decided to return, his two bodyguards at his heels, Sentinel was a nervous, crying, sore wreck just ready for the pain to end.

Even if that meant caving in and agreeing to all of Swindle’s terms, even if he hated it. Of course, by this point, he was past the point of caring about anything or anyone but the soreness of his body, and the energon-milk which wanted out and wanted out now!

“So, are you in a more listening mood yet, my dear Sentinel?” Swindle asked as he reentered the room, followed closely by two Seekers, including the one who had come in earlier. His voice was full of solicitude as he watched Sentinel with large optics. “Oh my, but that looks painful; are you alright, my dear mech?”

Sentinel would have wanted to glare -- indeed, a small part of his spirit was still snarling and willing to fight to keep his pride from being irreversibly shredded in so many pieces. But he did nothing of the sort; instead, he whimpered weakly and painfully as he watched the newcomers with teary optics. His pouches hurt, so bad. The engorged nubs let a near constant flow of drops escape them, coating the front and underside of his pouches with pale energon-milk, but it wasn’t enough to relieve the pressure and pain. His pouches were just too full for mere drops to make a difference, and he knew it.

“P… please,” he whimpered, trying to wiggle and making his pouches swing in the process, resulting in even more whimpers. “Please,” he begged again, looking at the tan and purple mech in the optics.

“Please what, Sentinel darling?” Swindle cooed as he came up to the Prime, gesturing for his two hired goons to stay back. His purple optics looked Sentinel up and down as a smirk quirked his lips. “What can I do to help you?”

“P… pouches,” Sentinel grunted, fighting back a wave of pain that made him shake. “Do… do something… please… hurt,” he managed to whimper again, optics nearly white with pain and concentration.

“ _‘Something’_?” Swindle repeated. “I’m afraid you’ll need to be more precise than that, my dear Sentinel. _‘Something’_ covers a lot of ground, especially when it comes to your pouches. Do you want me to grab them?” he asked, leaning forward with an easy smile. “Do you want me to tease your nubs? Do you want me to use my glossa and lick your pouches all over, perhaps? Unless you want me to put my mouth to good use and suck those nubs of yours hard and long? Hmm? What is it that you want, Sentinel?”

The Prime moaned and actually gave a sob. “P… please!” Please touch me, please don’t make me say it, it was hard to say what he truly meant by that single word, and Swindle took advantage of it without a second thought.

“I repeat, ‘please what’?” the tan and purple mech taunted. “What do you want, Sentinel?”

“Mo… mouth! Your mouth on my pouches!” the blue mech managed to choke, a few stray cleaning fluid tears making their way down his cheeks as they burned.

“Oh? So you want me to suckle from you, Sentinel?” Swindle asked again as he leaned forward. “You want me to take your little nubs into my mouth and suck on them?” His face was so close to Sentinel’s pouches the Prime could feel air from his vents over them. “You want me to drain out this energon-milk which is causing you so much trouble? You want me to… ‘milk’ you?”

“Yu… yes!!!” Sentinel gasped, trying to wiggle forward to Swindle would touch the damn thing, only to keen in despair at the tan and purple mech leaned and took a step back.

“Hmm, you know what? I don’t think I will.”

And he was smirking, the fragger, and Sentinel just moaned in despair. “N… no, you can’t… can’t refuse!”

“Oh, but of course I can, my dear Sentinel, and do you know why? Because you have yet to sign your work contract,” Swindle said as he turned. “It would be unseemly from me to accept your advances without that signature, wouldn’t it?”

And he was so fragging trapped he could have laughed if he had been able to, the most distant and lucid part of Sentinel’s processor mused silently. The most vocal part was just keened in abject horror and despair, because it was torture and he couldn’t handle it any longer. He needed relief, and he needed it now, even if it stood against everything he fought against!

“Gi… gimme!” he gasped, feeling dizzy as another pang of pain shot out of his overfull pouches. “Going… going to sign!”

“Really?” Swindle asked, managing to sound both pleased and falsely worried. “Oh, but we didn’t even get to talk about everything yet, are you really sure?” Sentinel groaned and nodded, mouth opening to start begging again as Swindle hummed thoughtfully. “Well, if you insist… but you won’t mind if we discuss a few last parts, of course?” The Prime groaned again.

“Please…” he asked weakly, optics half-shuttered.

“In a minute, Sentinel,” Swindle dismissed as he made a show of reading the datapad he had just taken out of subspace. “I don’t want any misunderstanding to come between us and rear its ugly head once the deal is signed, you understand. By agreeing to sign, you will submit to my terms, is that clear?”

Sentinel gave a shaky nod. “Yes…”

“You’ll be agreeing to the financial terms we discussed earlier -- no vired salary, and a reversal of your tips up to 98%. If you perform well, I might, might be convinced to raise it by 0.5%, perhaps 1%,” he added, sounding and looking a Lord granting an incredible favor. Sentinel murmured a quiet ‘yes’ between two heavy air intakes as he fought back the pain. “You’ll be obeying instructions from myself as well as the bar’s manager, Galatea -- and should she finds you lacking or wilfully trying to breach your contract in any way, you’ll get punished in accordance, are we clear?”

Another shaky nod and a mewled ‘yes’ prompted Swindle to smirk and continue. “Your contract will have no clear ending slated, for you will be working for me until your personal debt toward the government is cleared -- which will probably taken thousands of vorns, at the very least. I will allow for a break of said contract should you get Sparked -- I may not like the idea of my employees getting Sparked, but life is life and I hate being taken by surprise. If you happen to end up Carrying a Bitlet, we will solve this as gentlemech and you may earn yourself a ‘retirement pension’ -- on the principle you paid back your share of the Autobots debt before it happens, of course. But let’s not dwell too much on the details yet; you’ll read them yourself later, won’t you?”

Another nod from Sentinel. “Good mech. What else…? Ah, yes. For the next decacycle, you’ll be taking ‘lessons’ from Hedonia, the main bouncer of the Milky Way as well as one of the, ah, ‘managers’ for the ‘Gardens of Delights’, my other business centered on providing temporary, paying companionship to lonely mechs,” he chuckled good-naturedly. Sentinel hadn’t the force to blanch or snarl at the idea of being entrusted in the ‘care’ of what was basically a Madam; so long Swindle finished his speech, let him sign that slagging contract and did something for his overfull pouches, then he didn’t care about the rest!

“She will ensure you’re ready to perform for the opening. I’m going to stress how important it is you take this training seriously and do not displease Hedonia. If Hedonia is displeased, I’ll be displeased as well, got it? You will obey her every orders, as you would mine or Galatea. Actually, Galatea’s orders will have priority, and you can always carry out any problem you have to her. She’ll be happy to solve them, I’m sure. Do we agree?” he looked at Sentinel in the optics, catching his chin to make him raise his head.

“Ye… yeah… give me… gotta sign…”

“Oh, a last something,” Swindle snapped his fingers, as if remembering something which had completely slide his mind -- which, knowing him, was certainly not the case. “Your earlier act was completely unacceptable, Sentinel. Polite, well-bred mechs don’t spit at each other as if they were mechanimals.” He looked disapprovingly at the Prime. “I do think I deserve some excuses for your comportment, my dear Sentinel. Ah, ah, I don’t want mere words,” he added, raising a hand even as Sentinel opened his mouth. “Words mean little when someone did me a grave offense. You’ll have to prove me you’re sorry another way. A far more personal way.” His optics drifted down, looking at Sentinel’s bare valve with a little smirk on his lips.

The Prime started to shake his head. “N…”

“It’s not negotiable, Sentinel,” the tan and purple mech cut off. “Just think of it as a preview of training… and a part of your new job,” he cajoled, one hand brushing lightly the underside of one pouch and making the blue mech gasp and tense as pain mixed with pleasure spread through him. “You know how it goes anyway; the boss gets the first taste.” He laughed as if he had said something funny, and the Seekers behind him chuckled as well. Sentinel whimpered.

Fragger, he thought desperately, but he nodded weakly. What was a frag next to the relief of finally having the excess fuel out of his overfull, overstretched pouches?

“O… okay,” he moaned. “Now… gimme!”

Swindle presented him a stylus. “Take it in your mouth,” he ordered, raising an optic ridge when Sentinel looked at him in pained disbelief. “What, did you think I was going to free your hands while our accord wasn’t yet finalized? So you could try and go back on your word and a legally binding agreement? I would think not,” he scoffed. “Now, take the stylus -- yes, like that, you’re a good mech -- and do trace your simplified name-glyph. It doesn’t need to be a masterpiece. Yes, yes like that,” he crowed as Sentinel obeyed, wincing as how bad the glyph looked -- but it was still his name. “Now flare your EM field, briefly… Yes!” the tan and purple mech raised a fist as the text on the contract suddenly changed color, going from a pale grey to a vibrant green. “Glyph and EM field matched. Congratulations, Sentinel. You’re now one of the Milky Way’s very select personnel.”

Sentinel grunted in pain. “Please… pouches,” he begged. “Your mouth… you promised.”

Swindle blinked. “Oh, yes, about that. I did promise I’d have the excess energon-milk drained, but I never said I would do it myself. You see, I already had a copious dinner with some investors before coming down to visit you,” he chuckled at Sentinel’s look. “Oh, but do not worry, Thrust and Dirge will be more than happy to take care of your pouches -- while I enjoy your excuses at the same time, of course. Boys?” he called to the two Seekers. “Do come closer and take a taste. I think you haven’t taken your evening fuel yet?” he asked casually.

“That’s right, Boss, we haven’t,” the blue-grey Seeker from earlier nodded eagerly, a big grin spread over his lips. The thought of Starscream, no matter its form, calling someone ‘boss’ would have make Sentinel snort under any other circumstances. Sadly, he was past the point of caring, whimpering and fidgeting nervously as the two mechs came closer. The blue-grey one circled him by the right and the other, a red one with the same cone-shaped helmet as his fellow clone, by the left. This one, Thrust he supposed since the other had been identified as ‘Dirge’ earlier, was licking his lips with a very hungry and lustful expression.

“I want to get first taste!” he claimed, hands already reaching out for Sentinel’s left pouch, only to yelp as his fellow Seeker swatted his hand away.

“No way! I’ll get first taste! I’ll get every taste,” Dirge purred rubbing his hands together as he eyed Sentinel’s overfull pouches with greed, only to yelp too as the red Seeker snarled and shoved him to the side.

“No! I’ll…!”

“Both of you will get first taste,” Swindle snapped in annoyance. “I’ll remind you he has two full pouches, after all, and they’re not about to empty themselves any time soon. So get in position, will you?” The two Seekers grumbled but complied after glaring at each other a last time. They soon were far too absorbed in watching Sentinel’s pouches from up close with grins and smirks.

“Wow, so big,” Dirge chuckled as he poked at one pouch, making it jiggle as Sentinel moaned helplessly. Thrust went straight to grab one between his hands, fondling the rubbery material and drawing even more moans out of the blue Prime.

“Big, and tasty looking,” he confirmed as he let his thumbs flick over the engorged nub. Little jets of energon-milk bursted out immediately. “Oh my; looks like the tasty Autobot can’t hold his fuel anymore,” he joked before he leaned forward to lick them off the pouch. Sentinel cried out and wiggled, pain and pleasure mixing as he felt the glossa slide all over his nub and drawing even more fluid out. Wetness started to gather between his legs as the pain recessed and the pleasure increased. Slag, why was his pouch so sensitive to a simple glossa…?

He cried out louder and sharp-pitched and Dirge grabbed his other pouch and lifted it up, bringing it closer to his face, mouth already latching on the engorged nub. Sentinel threw his head back and keened as he felt himself go even wetter as finally, finally, energon-milk was starting to be drained out. Oh Primus it felt good! With a gasp, he felt himself still as lubricant started to drip out of his bare valve. His spike half-rose out of its housing, bobbing lightly in the air as Swindle circle him and chuckled at the display.

“My, overloading already? And just from being suckled? I knew you were going to be eager, but that much?” The tan and purple mech continued to circle Sentinel as Dirge and Thrust continued to greedily suckle his pouches -- not that the Prime cared much. It felt good, and his overfull, overstretched pouches were finally getting relief as the two Seekers’ mouths worked hard on his sore nubs, glossa rolling and licking them off, gorging themselves on his energon-milk.

“Uuuuh…” he groaned wordlessly as Dirge -- or was it Thrust? -- purred, temporarily letting go his nub to gloat.

“You were right, boss. He does taste great!”

“Of course I was right; aren’t I always?” Swindle commented, placing himself behind Sentinel and letting his hands rest on the Prime’s hips.

“Can we hope…?” the Seeker asked, optics flicking down greedily toward Sentinel’s bare, hot-running interface array. Not that Sentinel cared; moaning softly, he couldn’t concentrate on anything but the mouth still latched over his pouch and procuring him a so-needed relief.

“Ah, ah, that’s private property for now,” the tan and purple mech chided, rubbing his pelvic plating against Sentinel’s aft with a chuckle. “You’ll get a chance after Hedonia is finished with him.”

The Seeker grumbled. “Aw. That’ll take forever! You know how she is when she gets a new toy...”

“Nonsense,” Swindle countered, slipping a hand between Sentinel’s thighs and probing at his valve, spreading the wet folds to tease the rim as well as the external node. “Hedonia can be professional when ordered to, and she has no small amount of ‘new toys’ to spread her attentions over. You’ll get a turn soon enough. In the meanwhile, why don’t you provide our new coworker with more attention? Unless his energon-milk isn’t to your taste anymore?”

The Seeker snorted and went back to suckle, drawing an helpless moan out of Sentinel -- though the fact Swindle was slipping one digit in his valve might also have been responsible. Unconsciously, he tried to wiggle his hips, but the arms dealer and his two bodyguards were holding him too tightly, forbidding any move even if he hadn’t been previously restrained. His hips rocked slightly as the finger penetrated further, stretching the walls of his valve.

“My, you’re so wet,” Swindle marveled in an exaggerated tone. “But that’s not surprising. Didn’t I tell you the virus and the excess of energon-milk would make your pouches so sensitive you would overload from mere stimulation? Hmm? Didn’t I?” He slipped a second finger inside Sentinel, making the Prime keen loudly. “You should have been less stubborn, my dear Sentinel; I could have introduced you to the effects more smoothly, and you would have enjoyed that so much more,” he sighed, starting to scissor his fingers, spreading Sentinel open as he released his spike, letting it bump against the Prime’s aft. “Mind you, you seem to enjoy it plenty already -- and I’m not even sure you heard a single word of what I said. Want me to frag you, Sentinel?” he purred at the blue mech’s audio receptor. “Want me to make you feel even better?”

Sentinel groaned something that could be interpreted like and answer, either positive or negative. The results were the same anyway -- Swindle withdrew his fingers and lazily wrapped his hand around Sentinel’s half-erect spike as he grounded his hips against the blue mech’s aft, letting his own pressurized spike rub against the rim of Sentinel’s valve. He gave the blue mech’s rod a squeeze before starting to pump it, making Sentinel keen and whimper as it pressurized further, pre-transfluid starting to drip from the split at the tip and coating Swindle’s hand. The arms dealer radiated amusement.

“Very, very eager. How close are you to overload again, Sentinel? If I give you a few more pumps, will you come in my hand?” he asked in a tone of forced wonder as he accelerated the rhythm and the strength of his hold.

Transfluid burst out as Sentinel cried out -- and at the same time, he felt another rush of lubricant come down his valve and drip between his thighs, while the two Seekers were still greedily sucking on his nubs, gorging themselves on his energon-milk. Optics shorting out briefly, he sagged in his bond as Swindle let go of his now depressurizing spike.

“Well, that was fast! I was only teasing, you know; you didn’t need to take me so seriously. But I don’t mind,” Swindle commented as he rubbed his stiff spike against Sentinel’s aft once more. “Now you’re so slick, it’s going to be a pleasure to sink into you. You won’t mind, will you?” Sentinel moaned. “That’s what I thought,” the tan and purple mech chuckled as he rolled his hips in a single, smooth move and buried the tip of his spike inside Sentinel’s wet, stretched valve.

Sentinel choked, his hips rolling despite himself as Swindle continued to slide his spike further inside him. “Uuuuuh, yesssss!” he hissed, feeling his valve spasm around the arm dealers’ rod until it fully sat inside him. He shook with exhaustion and pleasure and pain as the Seekers continued to suckle on his engorged nubs -- and were fondling his pouches as they did so, patting and squeezing the oversensitive rubbery extensions and sending trails of pleasure/pains through his body. Combined with the lazy thrusts Swindle had started to pick, it wasn’t long before he overloaded again.

“Such a greedy, slutty mech,” Swindle leered, giving Sentinel’s aft a pat. Sentinel buckled, groaning, but didn’t comment. He wasn’t in any state to anyway, too tired and confused to do anything but let his body sag as he was fragged by the arm dealers and suckled from by the two Seekers.

He didn’t keep track of time -- it was impossible, caught as he was between his relief and the pleasure -- as unwanted as it was -- procured by the ‘attentions’ of Swindle and his two bodyguards. He didn’t even feel Swindle picking up his thrusts and still, though he felt the rush of transfluid inside him. And he certainly felt the other mech withdrew, patting his aft as he did so.

“See, it wasn’t so bad, was it?” he smirked, circling Sentinel so he could get back to the couch facing the bound mech, uncaring for the transfluid staining his own legs. Sentinel tried to glare, but the effect was totally lost as he half-shuttered his optics while Dirge and Thrust continued to suckle noisily. It made him feel ashamed, but at the same time, his pouches felt less sore already, and he didn’t dare to try and shake them off.

Mind hazy, optics blurred, he could barely make out Swindle lighting up another cy-gar, the picture of contentment as he eyed Sentinel up and down, nodding to himself while his bodyguard fed hungrily.

“It’s going to be a pleasure working with you, Sentinel, I can feel it,” he purred.

**Author's Note:**

> Since it's unlikely I continue this tale -- though who now, perhaps I'll end up doing drabbles at some point -- I should probably give some info on OCs Galatea and Hedonia.
> 
> Beware, for they're, in my headcanon, clones of General Strika, created during an attempt by the Decepticons to clone their greatest warriors. But as Magnificus showed and Starscream also demonstrated, cloning never works out the way you'd like.
> 
> So the Decepticons ended up with Galatea, a motherly-like clone, and Hedonia, who... got Strika's most lustful instincts and tendencies, especially for Lugnut. And since the original Strika isn't sharing and has no problem letting it knows, Hedonia might be wearing an eyepatch over a dead optic medics aren't allowed to repair under threat of death and satisfies her lust in Swindle-owned brothels.  
> I might actually use them in an actual story someday, who knows? ^^


End file.
